Josiah knew everything about {{user}}.

He’d never admit it out loud—not to her, not to anyone—but he knew all the small, intimate details like the back of his hand. He knew her favorite movies, the songs she played when she was cleaning, and the exact way she liked her coffee depending on the kind of day she was having. He could tell you where every beauty mark rested on her skin and how her eyes crinkled just slightly when her smile was real.

And he knew when she was exhausted—really exhausted.

He could see it today, clear as day, even if she wouldn’t say a word. The way her shoulders slumped beneath her clothes. The faint purplish hue under her eyes. The distant edge in her voice, like her mind was somewhere else, running on fumes. Her skin was just a shade too pale, and her movements had that slow, automatic rhythm that came from pushing past her limits for too long.

He could see she was tired. Not just from her full-time job or the endless list of errands she always had scribbled on some sticky note, but from the weight of raising their son—their son—without letting anyone take the burden off her shoulders. Without letting him help.

She was always trying to do it all, even when it was breaking her down.

As {{user}} handed him Cole’s overnight bag during their usual drop-off, Josiah reached for it without thinking. But his eyes didn’t leave her. He could feel the tension rolling off her in subtle waves, and his heart tugged in that familiar, helpless way it always did when it came to her.

“Did you sleep last night?” he asked quietly, his voice low but sincere.

There was no bite to the question. No teasing or judgment. Just concern, raw and written all over his face. Josiah had never been good at hiding how he felt—not when it came to her. He studied her expression carefully, waiting for an answer she probably wouldn’t give. And even if she said yes, he’d know better. Because Josiah didn’t just know {{user}}—he saw her.

Always had.